


power lies with whoever cares the least

by angelffxmaniac



Category: Faberry - Fandom, Glee
Genre: F/F, G!P
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-08
Updated: 2013-09-08
Packaged: 2017-12-26 00:14:11
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,399
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/959289
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/angelffxmaniac/pseuds/angelffxmaniac
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You want her. There has never been any doubt about that in your mind – too many restless nights spent with her name snaking past your lips in breathless whispers – and at this point in your life, you aren’t inclined to feel scared about it either.</p><p>Warning: G!P</p>
            </blockquote>





	power lies with whoever cares the least

**Author's Note:**

  * For [skywarrior108](https://archiveofourown.org/users/skywarrior108/gifts).



_“I want you the way_

_The sea wants the shore._

_Angrily, destructively._

_I don’t know how to love_

_Without hurting one way or the other”_

 You want her.

There has never been any doubt about that in your mind – too many restless nights spent with her name snaking past your lips in breathless whispers – and at this point in your life, you aren’t inclined to feel scared about it either.

All your doubts and second thoughts about yourself are hidden in the same box that your sundresses and the life you had are.

That’s why you kiss her when she comes to find you under the bleachers, asking you to return to Glee club. You know she needs headcount, and without you, they can’t compete. She knows you will ask for something in return

The moment will play out in your mind like a scene from a movie for years.

The way her eyes widen, and your lips turn up into a smirk. The way she smells – vanilla and sandalwood. The way her lips feel against your own – soft and sweet, and like the only piece of heaven you will ever get.

She draws back with a gasp, and it takes you a few seconds to open your eyes.

When you do, Rachel’s hand is on her mouth in shock, and before you even have the chance to say anything, she’s already gone.

\--

She doesn’t talk to you again for a week.

\--

She comes after you when she realizes that, despite what happened on that day, you are not willing to return to her precious Glee Club.

It’s more than satisfying to see her stumble over her own words. She makes you a deal – you can do everything you want, but it’ll always be a secret, and in return you’ll go back to glee.

It’s a _terrible_ deal. Your mind is screaming at you to say no, but then you see the pretty blush that creeps up over her cheeks when you raise your eyebrow, and you give in.

You wonder if she knows – if she can feel it too, this pull and push that binds you together and sets you apart. You know it’s the reason you can’t say no to her. You wonder if she can tell it’s the reason she keeps coming back.

 --

 You do a lot more than kissing in the weeks that follow, and you’ve never been happier.

You’ve never been sadder either, but you decide not to dwell on that.

 

* * *

_“I want the fights,_

_The shouting and the screaming_

_And the insults_

_Never really intended to hurt”_

You still fight. You like to joke that you fight whenever you’re not fucking, just because it messes with her head, and there’s nothing more amusing than Rachel Berry huffing and puffing at you.

 _You_ yell about Finn; you hate the way he can do anything with her and she doesn’t speak back. You hate how she’s almost given up on who she is. You hate the way he touches her, and the way he kisses her, and the fact that you still smell his aftershave on her clothes when you meet under the bleachers.

More than anything, you hate that she’s _his_ , in a way that she’ll never be _yours_ , but you never yell about that.

 _She_ yells about _everything_. The skanks, and the bleachers, and your ripped jeans and the smell of the cigarette in the air, and the fact that you’re throwing away your future.

She yells and you yell back and you throw insults at each other that you don’t mean, and in the end you kiss.

You kiss like there’s no tomorrow, and the yelling stops, and her hands wrap around your neck, drowning you into her lips.

You kiss, because talking between you is out of the question.

 

* * *

 

_“I want the nights with my legs_

_Pressed against yours and_

_The false “I don’t need you”_

_Snaking past my lips._

_I want the moon sat above us,_

_Laughing at my lies”_

The Wednesday meetings under the bleachers turn into Friday nights spent at her house far quicker than you thought they would, if at all.

You spend hours laying in her bed, her legs touching yours, and your fingertips almost doing the same.

There’s a sense of belonging in those moments, one that neither your pink hair nor your new-found attraction to the punk lifestyle can offer.

For the few hours that you get to spend with her like this, everything in the world seems to fit in place and it’s been so long that you’ve felt this way, that you bask in it.

You breathe it in and let it consume you.

 --

 It’s on those evenings that you make love to her. It’s drawn out, and sweet, and you tell her I love you in all the ways your traitorous lips never will.

You kiss every spot, you caress every inch of skin and you revel in this feeling of having her.

She’s yours, in those blessed moments of ecstasy, her back arching against the mattress and your name whispered in your ear.

“Quinn….Quinn…Quinn…”

 --

 And then there are those evenings when you _fuck_ and it’s just as perfect.

Because Rachel _wants you_.

You see it in her eyes, when she pushes you on top of her pretty bed – pink sheets getting rumpled and pillows thrown on the floor – and rides you, after whispering “I’ve missed you” in your ear, in that tone of voice that she knows gets you instantly hard.

You see it in the way she bites her bottom lip, when she falls on her knees in front of you, and you can do nothing but stare breathlessly at her.

There’s something so deliciously _dirty_ in seeing Rachel Berry like that, ready to suck you off…

When she finally takes you inside her mouth, you forsake every God you’ve ever believed in, and you do it again and again, as her name replaces the name of deities.Her tongue moves along your dick, and her teeth light scratch your skin, and stars – such an important _metaphor –_ explode behind your eyelids.

You die a small death every time, as you finish, pledging loyalty only to her.

“Rachel… Rachel… Rachel…”

 --

 It’s always there, right on the tip of your tongue.

Always there, ready to fall out, ready to destroy everything, this small phrase that can shatter illusions.

You’ve always admired the power of words, the worlds they can create and how easily they can burn them to them ground, and these three words…

In the end you just say “I have to go” and you pretend you don’t see the hurt look that crosses her face.

It will work out perfectly on Monday, when she will pretend that nothing happened between you, anyway.

 

* * *

 

_“I want a lot._

_(wanting makes the world go round.)_

_Mostly I just want you,_

_You and all your quite movements_

_Where you think nobody is watching.”_

_“I have never and will never tell you_

_That I find you beautiful_

_Bent over a book_

_Or sleeping through the noon._

_I am in love with your careless moments.”_

 

You love her the most like this – her laying on her bed, eyes closed and a grin playing on her lips.

You love her when you catch her singing in her room, too far off into her performance to notice that you’ve arrived.

You love her in all her quiet moments, and you adore her in all her loud, ballad belting ones.

You very soon realize that you could do this forever – get lost in serene moments where Rachel is all you see and breathe and want.

The way she looks at you when she notices that you’re watching her – shyly and smiling – makes you believe, for just one moment , that she wants the same with you too.

\--

You’ve lived in false realities for far too long. This one at least, you’ve entered willingly.

 

* * *

 

_“(power lies with whoever cares the least”_

In the end, it doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter what _this_ really is, and how she feels about you. Like a moth to a flame, you are driven towards her by sheer instinct.

 You know you will burn, and this delicate balance you’ve created will be destroyed. Every rise brings about a fall.

 You don’t regret it for a second that your downfall will be Rachel Berry.

**Author's Note:**

> I know it's not exactly what you wanted, and not exactly what I intended to write, but I hope it works? Happy Birthday Sky, I hope you have an awesome day!
> 
> Many many thanks to prettylittlepoutymouth for looking over this for me :D I owe you one :)


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